


The Truest Sacrifice

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Castiel (Supernatural), Caretaker Dean Winchester, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Sick Character, Sick Jack Kline, Sickfic, Squick, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: True love is sitting beside someone while their body attempts to turn itself inside out.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	The Truest Sacrifice

Dean looked away from the movie credits now rolling on the small television screen and at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost two. Cas and Sam should be back soon. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching until he heard his back pop. He glanced around the room and frowned. Where was the kid? 

He tamped down the panic that tried to rise in his gullet and went down his checklist. 

Duffle?  _ By the bed. _

Car keys?  _ On the table _ . 

Coat?  _ Draped over the back of the chair.  _

Shoes on the floor?  _ Check. _

Light butt imprint on the other bed? _ Still visible. _

He clicked the TV off and listened. Almost smacked himself when he realized where Jack probably was. 

Dean crossed the room and paused beside the closed bathroom door. He knocked. 

“Jack?” 

“Yeah?” came the immediate reply. Dean sighed, his muscles relaxing as the need to fight was dismissed. 

“Everything okay? You’ve, uh, been in there a while…”  _ Great, Dean. Give the kid a complex about taking too long in the john. Sammy will love that.  _

__ “I’m-- I’m not sure,” Jack answered. 

Dean’s brows rose. Well, shit. He hadn’t been expecting that. “What uh, what-- what do you mean? Is something wrong?” 

He could hear Sammy’s voice in his head, warning him not to bust in just yet.  _ ‘Give him a minute to figure out what he’s feeling. He’ll tell you, Dean, you just have to be patient.”  _

_ Yeah, well, if the kid keels over because his appendix explodes or some shit, it’s on you. _

_ And… now I’m arguing with a made-up version of my brother… Awesome.  _

He realized he’d tuned out during the important part of their conversation and cursed under his breath. “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” 

When Jack spoke, it was in his usual way. To Dean, it always sounded like Jack was selecting each word he said very carefully. Frowning in concentration before finally deeming it the correct choice. 

“I don’t feel… sick, but I also don’t feel… good.” 

Dean did his best to decipher the unintentionally cryptic message. “Is it your stomach? You said you don’t feel sick?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Hey, Dean, do you remember when I ate that chicken and threw up?” 

Dean swallowed hard against the visual of Jack projectile vomiting partially raw chicken all over his bed and floor. “Yeah…” 

“Well, it’s not like that.” 

“Okay, well that’s good at least. Don’t think the maids would appreciate that.” He paused, running through the list of possible ailments. 

“Okay, kid, here’s what we’re going to do. I can’t help you unless I know what’s wrong so I need you to answer some questions for me, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Does anything hurt?” 

“No… it doesn’t hurt… just feels…”

“Yeah?” 

“Strange.” 

“Strange? Strange, how?” 

“Like... a bag of rocks.” 

_ A bag of rocks? What the… Okay, Winchester. Keep your cool. Just keep going.  _

“Okay, a bag of rocks. Where's the bag of rocks located?” 

“In… my stomach.” 

Dean’s brow creased as he tried to figure out what the kid was trying to tell him. Jack didn’t have a lot of experience with illness so he was using what he did understand to try to explain his symptoms. 

_ Dumb it down, Dean. Back to basics. Bag of rocks. What do you know about rocks?  _

_ Rocks are sharp… they are odd shapes… they are bulky… they are heavy... Fucking hell, they're heavy. Rocks are heavy.  _

“Does it feel full? Or just heavy, like it’s weighing you down?” 

“It feels kind of like it did after I ate the chili… but worse.” 

Dean thought back to the last time he made chili. Jack had seemed to like it, eating four bowls before Sam finally cut him off. Afterward, they’d watched a movie and it had gotten… gassy. Two full-grown men letting loose toxic wind until the entire room stunk. Jack had been in a tough spot, however, needing to release the built-up gas but not sure how to do it. 

Both Dean and Sam had tried to help him as best they could. Finally, it was Dean who convinced the kid to chug a beer (the only carbonated beverage available at the time), hoping it would make him burp. It had worked and soon after it was two full-grown men and one beginner Nephilim providing after-dinner entertainment much to Castiel's dismay. 

_ Worse than gas…? Okay, so something in his… oh, shit.  _

Just as Dean came to his final conclusion, he heard Jack grunt in pain. Poor kid. Dean knew exactly what he was going through. Luckily, he also knew how to help. The first thing he did was reassure Jack. 

“Okay, Jack. I think I know what’s going on. Look, it’s uh, it’s gonna be… gross… and uh, uncomfortable but you’ll feel better afterward. I’m going to have Sam pick some things up on his way back that should help.” 

Next, Dean quickly shot off a message to his brother. 

_ Jacks got the runs. Don’t have anything here. Supply run? _

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Something is happening. My stomach feels strange.” 

“I know. It’s okay. Just, uh, let it happen, okay?” 

“I feel… hot. Do I have a fever?” 

“No, it’s not a fever. You must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with you and now your body wants it out.” 

“Dean-- I-- I don’t like this feeling. What’s happening to me?”

Dean sat down on the floor and rested his head against the dingy wallpaper.  _ It has to be soon _ … 

He knew from experience that the waiting was the worst part. The false alarm farts, the sudden rush of heat, the painful expansion of the lower gut. Oh yeah, after living on the road for over half his life, Dean was well acquainted with diarrhea. 

By the sound of it  _ or lack thereof _ , Dean was hoping that Sammy would get back with the meds in time for the kid to avoid it altogether. 

“Dean? I don’t know… what to do.” 

Dean rolled his head towards the door. “You just have to ride it out, kid. It sucks, but your body’s gonna do what it has to do.” 

He sent another text to Sam. 

_ Hurry _

This time, there was an answer. 

_ Tell him to ‘hang in there’. We're on our way. -Cas _

Dean shook his head, a split-second smile teasing his lips before it vanished. 

Jack spoke up, “Dean, I feel sick too now. Is that bad?” 

_ Aw, crap.  _ “Alright, I’m coming in.” 

Dean gently twisted the knob and pushed the door open. He was instantly happy he’d decided to invade Jack’s privacy when he found the kid kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. Knowing they were on a clock, Dean shut the door and crouched behind him. He rested his hand on Jack’s forehead and swore. Looks like they were dealing with a fever after all. 

“Okay, kiddo. I need you to stand up for me.” 

Jack frowned as he stared at the clean water inside the toilet bowl. “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up.” 

“I know. That’s okay. I’m going to help you.” 

Jack turned and looked at him, uncertainty coloring his features even as his face paled. 

The loud high-pitched whine of a very unhappy stomach that Dean was dreading echoed in the bathroom and he bent down so he could look the kid in the eye. “It’s okay, Jack. I know you’re scared and it’s confusing, but I need to trust me, okay? Can you do that, kid? Can you trust me?” 

Jack scrunched his face up and Dean knew they were out of time. As soon as the kid nodded, Dean got him up, his pants pulled down and the small trash can in his hands. He guided Jack to sit down on the toilet then crouched in front of him. 

A full-body shiver moved through Jack as he began to cough. Small half-hearted coughs that were his body trying to usher up the illness. The next gurgle that came from his belly scared him so bad he looked to Dean for reassurance. 

“It’s okay. Just let it happen.” 

Jack removed one hand from the can in his lap so he could grasp Dean’s shirt tightly as he felt a sharp pain in his belly. It shifted suddenly and then a loud spluttering noise filled the room as the excess gas forced its way out ahead of the main event. 

The coughs tapered off only to transition into a deep belch that shocked them both. Dean leaned back slightly moving out of the danger zone while Jack instinctively ducked his head closer to the trash can. 

Dean heard a stream of liquid hit the water and tried to prepare Jack for what was about to happen. “Look, Jack, this is going to suck, okay? I could sugar coat it but that’s not going to make it any less shitty… literally. Apparently you hit the jackpot, kiddo, cuz it looks like you’re getting the two-for-one special.” 

His attempt at humor went over the kid’s head and he sighed. 

“You’re gonna get sick, Jack. From both ends. You’re going to throw up, but you’re also going to get to experience the runs. It’s painful and it’s awful, but I’m right here, okay? Just try to remember to stay calm and let your body do what it needs to do.” 

_Imaginary Sammy reminded him,_ _ “You have to comfort him, Dean. All of this is new to him and he gets scared. Just like I did when I was little.”  _

Dean placed his hand on Jack’s knee as it began to bounce, the kid’s nerves starting to kick in. “Look, if you-- if you get scared, just hold my hand.” 

The brown river suddenly broke free and Jack immediately grabbed Dean’s hand. The sound alone probably scared the kid more than anything. If Dean wasn’t in there with him, he would have sworn someone turned on the faucet. 

Panic took over and Jack's eyes widened before closing tight. Dean could see him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw against the pain and discomfort. He placed his free hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, Jack, look at me.” The young man opened his eyes. They were brimming with unshed tears. 

“Hey, you’re okay.” 

“It-- it hurts.” A tear spilled down his cheek and Dean quickly used his thumb to wipe it away. 

“I know. I know it does.” If he couldn’t figure out a way to get the kid to calm down, Jack’s entire body would be sore tomorrow. By what he could see, it looked like every muscle in Jack's body was tensed up. He grasped the kid’s hand in his. 

“Hey, Jack, c’ mon. Squeeze my hand. Remember? If it hurts, you squeeze my hand.” 

Jack frantically nodded as his mouth filled with saliva. Another cramp rolled through his abdomen and he squeezed as hard as he could. Then, his stomach clenched and he squeezed even harder as vomit flowed from his mouth and dripped from his nose. 

The sight and sounds in the bathroom were almost too much for Dean, let alone the foul smell. He turned his head into his shoulder and focused on breathing through his mouth rather than his nose. Something wet dripped on his hand and he swallowed a gag. 

_ Steady, Winchester. Jack needs you. You can spew later.  _

“That’s it J--  _ huurr _ \--, Jack. Just get it u-- _ ulp _ \-- up.” 

Dean prayed to whichever dickbag was listening that Sam and Cas would get back soon because he was giving it all he had but his resolve was not going to last long. 

"Dean? You in there?" 

"Yeah." 

The knock on the door almost made him cry tears of joy, or maybe his eyes were just watering because of the stench. Either way, as soon as the door opened, it felt like he could finally breathe again. 

The look on his brother’s face would have been comical in a different kind of situation. “Dean. I thought you said he had diarrhea. This is… Jesus, Dean.” 

“Far from it. He did when I texted you, the  _ hurrr-  _ hur ling started about ten minutes ago.” 

Cas walked up beside Sam and tilted his head. “Dean, are you not well also? Your text didn’t mention you, only Jack.” 

“I’m good, Cas. It’s just Jack.” 

Cas squinted in confusion. “But you’re --” 

Sam interrupted, “He’ll be okay once he gets some fresh air, right, Dean?”

All three men’s attention was stolen by the painful heave that tore up Jack’s throat. 

“Jesus, kid. Take it easy.” Dean turned to his brother. “Can you get him a glass of water?” 

Sam filled up the plastic cup on the sink and handed it to him. 

“Yeah, here.” 

Jack shook his head before Dean could even try to convince him. “No.” 

“Aw, c’ mon, kid. I know you don’t want to but you’re stomach's gonna tear itself apart trying to bring something up. It won’t be so painful after you drink the water.” 

With a heavy sigh, Jack raised his head and sat up a little so he could drink the water. Unfortunately, Dean didn’t remind him not to chug it so it all came back up in a projectile spray that covered his hands, the wall,... and Dean. 

Fast instincts had prevented it from going in his eyes or mouth, but just knowing that someone else’s puke was all over his face was the last straw. As soon as Jack’s hand released his in order to grip the rim of the trash can, Dean scrambled off the floor and shoved past Sam and Cas. He bypassed the sink and small trashcan, instead, bolting straight for the door. 

He wrenched the flimsy door open and sprinted to the edge of the grass. 

“Dean!” 

He ignored his brother’s call and used Baby’s hood to steady himself as he bent over. The remnants of his breakfast splattered noisily onto the pavement when he missed his intended target, but he was able to adjust before the next heave. Mostly digested bacon and eggs decorated the tops of his boots and the bottom of his jeans as well as the small patch of grass and part of the curb. 

Sam had stopped a few feet away to pull his shirt over his nose then walked up behind his brother, rubbing his back as Dean continued to reject his earlier meal. 

In between the impressive heaves, Dean gasped for breath and groaned, “Oh, fuck. I was wrong, Sammy…”

“Wrong about what, Dean?” 

“It’s not… food poisoning.” 

“It’s not…  _ oh.  _ Crap.” 

Dean wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and leaned against the hood. He gave a harsh laugh, “Not yet. But soon, I’m sure.” 

He sniffed and straightened up, wiped his remaining clean hand under his eyes and nodded at the door to their room. “You, uh, may want to see if he’s about done in there. Because I’m pretty sure I’m next.” 

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE! You thought it was just sick Jack, but I tossed in a little bonus for you! 
> 
> Because I'm sure you guys know by now, I'm a sucker for sick Dean ;)


End file.
